The Tragedy of Errors
by whatsamatta
Summary: -"I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die by the hand I love so well." - William Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'.
1. ACT I

_**Disclaimer: The closest I'll get to owning Shakespeare is the complete works collection in my bookshelf. And Hey Arnold, well, I think I've established I will never own it – sad, but that's life for you. And I know that my stories are usually connected, but try to leave this one alone. Hope it's up to standards; but really, I'm not sure if you can understand or follow it. Sorry if you can't. Yes, I played with some of the lines from the play to fit my own desires – such is creative licensing. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

Helga sighed wistfully again as she stared out the window at the dreary rainy morning. It should have been perfect; it should have been everything she ever dreamed. Arnold, that beautiful, sick creature, he was amazing. At least, he was amazing while he was hers. Probably still nothing short of perfect, but she no longer held a claim.

Another sigh fogged up the glass as the rain continued to pound onto her building, forcing her to think of weeping. But Helga G. Pataki was strong, and would not give him the subconscious satisfaction of her tears. She would not cry. Wallow in her self misery and heartbreak maybe, but certainly not cry.

Memories flashed before her eyes, the way he would stroke her skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The breathy moans they would emit while engaging in the most primal expression of love and affection echoed through her ears. His sweet words, soft caresses – everything she wished she didn't love anymore, but she did. And she hated herself for it.

Suddenly, while thinking over her situation once again, she came to a disturbing realization. She was just like Helena; William Shakespeare's fair creature that adored a man who fell out of treasuring her. According to the master playwright, Helena and Demetrius had a beautiful love affair, but when Hermia's – another character in love – father promised her to Demetrius, said young man dropped Helena like last week's trash. Hermia meanwhile was deeply in love with Lysander, and had decided to run away with her lover to the safety of his Aunt's home outside the city of Athens, where the play is partly staged.

Helga, though, was certain that her story held no faerie-induced happy ending like _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. The fictional characters all found their picturesque finale, hence why the play is labeled a comedy. All the lovers were reunited in happiness with the help of certain faeries: namely Puck, a smart-mouthy yet loyal hobgoblin, and Oberon, the King of the faeries. Helga was confident that those clever spirits couldn't help her case.

Although, the similarities between the stories were astounding. Arnold and Helga had been together just shy of six months, but their passion was so hot most would think they were still in the beginning physical aspects of their relationship. As soon as they started dating, it was as if no other woman in the world existed for Arnold. Not even Lila could sway his eye away from Helga – the Helga who was desperately in love with him. The fates had aligned, and given the young blonde woman the one thing in life she desired and deserved most of all.

That is, until Lila had taken an interest in and began dating a smooth-talking Lorenzo.

Suddenly, Arnold shifted his gaze from his completely dedicated, nicer-than-before, and usually kinky girlfriend, to a former crush that was no longer single. He spent less time with Helga on even the most friendship-like level, and began fawning over Lila Sawyer once again. Helga had tried to keep Arnold's attention, but it had ended in Arnold pulling Helga aside to deliver the famed 'I don't think this is working anymore' talk. He even had the nerve to say it was because he had heard a rumor spreading around their senior class that Lorenzo was going to dump Lila in favor of Helga. Right, like that would happen.

Isn't it funny, the more things change, the more they stay the same?

"It's just like elementary, and even middle school." Helga murmured, watching the window fog up as her hot breath made contact with the cold glass. She remembered her attempts at, and she hate to label it chasing, Arnold; and couldn't help but think of Helena's plight.

"We should be wooed, and were not made to woo." The broken woman whispered, sorrow once again entering her along with the memories of the conversations she and Arnold had on the subject. Helena was right, _we cannot fight for love as men may do_.

Suddenly, it all made sense to Helga. She couldn't stay here anymore; it hurt too much to watch Arnold flatter Lila with the same pretty words he used on the now scorned young woman. Of course, she would have to take leaving in steps, if only for Phoebe's sake; the young woman would be devastated at the loss of her best friend. She would be gone for the weekend first, then a week, a month, a few months, then, forever.

Sitting up with a purpose, Helga decided she would go somewhere it wasn't raining – the rain only reminded her of her depression. Looking out the window, by some strange miracle she saw a patch of blue sky; it was east. Where could she go that was east? Suddenly, the first smile in a long time crossed her thin lips as she began humming an old Sinatra song.

"_Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today. I want to be a part of it, New York, New York. My little town blues are melting away. I'm gonna make a brand new start of it in old New York. If I can make it there, I'd make it anywhere. It's up to you, New York, New York_." She knew she skipped a few lines, but vagabond shoes didn't really apply to her. Her singing picked up as she grabbed her purse, locked her apartment, and left.

HA

Arnold and Lorenzo were standing nose to nose, glaring at each other in attempts to kill without physical exertion. Lila was sitting on a park bench, watching the two with surprise. Arnold was supposed to love Helga. He had to – it's the natural order of things. She opened her mouth to speak, interrupting the overly-testosterone-charged air.

"You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, o devilish holy fray! These vows are Helga's: will you give her o'er? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: your vows to her and me, put in two scales, will even weigh, and both as light as tales." The red head pointed out, growing tired of Arnold's futile pursuits of her affections. Arnold turned his gaze towards her, and she watched his eyes soften.

"I had no judgment when to her I swore." He stated simply, and Lila gasped as if someone had struck her.

"Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er." She snapped back, and Lorenzo brushed Arnold aside to take his girlfriend's hand.

"Arnold loves her, and he loves not you." Realizing what the situation had become, Lorenzo knew it was now a fight over Lila's heart. Too bad Arnold was one step ahead of him.

"O Lila, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eye? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow when thou hold'st up thy hand: o, let me kiss this princess of white, this seal of bliss!" the blonde man proclaimed, down on one knee with his arms stretched out. Lila gaped at him, hurt written all over her face.

"O spite! O hell! I see you are all bent to set against her for your merriment: if you were civil and knew courtesy, you would not do her this much injury. If you were a man, as men you are in show, you would not use a gentle lady so; to vow and swear and superpraise my parts, when I am sure you love her with your heart. You both are rivals, and love Lila; and now both rivals, to mock Helga: to trim exploit, a manly enterprise, to conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes with your derision! None of noble sort would so offend a virgin and extort a poor soul's patience, all to make you sport." Lorenzo grabbed Arnold's shoulder and spun him around, almost hitting the young man in the face.

"You are unkind, Arnold, be not so; for you love Helga, this you know I know: and here, with all good will, with all my heart, in Helga's love I yield you up my part; and yours of Lila to me bequeath, whom I do love and will do till my death." The dark haired man said seriously, so seriously that Lila scoffed from the background of the male moment.

"Never did mockers waste more idle breath." she muttered, only to be ignored as the man-off continued.

"Lorenzo, keep thy Helga, I will none: if e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as a guest-wise sojourn'd, and now to Lila is it home return'd, there to remain." Arnold announced, walking over to Lila and placing a hand on her should possessively. Said red head rolled her eyes and shrugged his hand away. Lorenzo missed her eye action, focusing more on the fact that he thought Arnold might actually be winning.

"Lila, it is not so." He would have continued, if only Arnold hadn't cut him off.

"Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear." Lorenzo, now seeing red at Arnold's repositioned hand on Lila's shoulder, just about tackled the blonde into the dirt. Lila, seeing what was about to happen, stepped away from both boys.

"Enough! Both of you! Arnold, you may very well not love Helga any more, if you loved her at all from what my ears heard, but I don't love you. I love Lorenzo, and with him I'll stay. I hope you find the one that makes you happy, but it certainly won't be me." And with that, she wrapped her arms around Lorenzo and the two left the park and a wounded Arnold behind them.

Vaguely, Arnold wondered if he would ever win.

HA


	2. ACT II

_**Disclaimer: Copy and paste all the 'I don't own' stuff from the previous chapter, and there you go. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

She couldn't tell you how she ended up in New York, much less a massively Italian neighborhood of Brooklyn. Assumedly, there was public transportation involved; a long Greyhound Bus ride and maybe a subway. She didn't know where she was; only that it wasn't raining, and the locals were taking full advantage of the fact.

Helga had arrived in what appeared to be an unofficial _Little Italy_; she was positive she wasn't in Manhattan. As terrible as this sounded, especially to her, the neighborhood she had stumbled into was far to poor to be even Lower Manhattan. And yet, poverty couldn't stop the festival that carried on for at least four blocks – food, wine and company was shared while the residents danced in the sun.

Confused and lost, Helga began to wander about the neighborhood, trying not to look too out of place as natives watched her closely – outsiders were always suspicious in these tight-knit communities. Strolling over to a homemade food stand, she browsed over the pastries before finding a sweet delight that appeared to be made with raspberries. Helga pulled out her wallet while smiling at the elderly woman manning the shop in what she hoped was a friendly manner.

"How much is that delight?" Helga asked before realizing what word she used. Delight? Who in their right mind would call a pastry a delight? But, by some strange miracle, her slip up brought out an equally warm smile on the older woman's lips.

"Hey, fughggetaboutit. Nobody pays taday." She smiled cheekily, and Helga saw the semblance of an attractive young woman beneath all the wrinkles. Helga's smile grew, and she looked around at all the dancers.

"Why is that?"

"We're celebrating the life of my pops." Came a voice from behind her, and Helga nearly jumped out of her skin with surprise. Turning her head quickly, she spotted a good-looking guy, maybe nineteen, with soft brown hair and bright blue eyes behind ac-sex-uating glasses.

"Buon pomeriggio, mamma, come sta?" He asked charmingly to the older woman, who flashed him a true smile.

"Sto benissimo, grazie." she replied, and leaned forward to kiss his cheeks with adoration. Helga, meanwhile, knew little Italian. The only thing she could follow was a greeting of some sort, he called her mother, and she thanked him. The young man turned back to her, and Helga suddenly felt excitement pool in the depths of her stomach.

"I'm Carmine Bianchetti." He introduced, and as she took his hand, Helga felt heat spread all through her body.

"Helga Pataki." Carmine smiled, and held out his arm as indication that they should walk together.

"Care to take a walk with me, Helga?" She laughed, forgetting all about Arnold and his ways, in order to enjoy herself on this little jaunt.

"So, Pataki? What is that, Polish?" What was he, flirting?

"Yes, but _**I'm **_from Hillwood." Carmine moved away from her a bit, if only to get a better look of her.

"_**Hillwood**_?! What's an uptown dame from Hillwood doing in lower-class Brooklyn?" There was no denying that Hillwood had a reputation for being just as high class as Upper Manhattan, just like there was no denying that Mr. Bianchetti's accent was turning her on.

"First of all, I'm from the middle-class Hillwood; the one with all the public schools and small-time businesses. Second of all, my boyfriend recently ditched me for his old crush who isn't even on the market anymore – one thing leads to another, badda bip badda bing, and boom, I'm here." Helga smirked as she continued walking, while Carmine stopped and watched her with wide eyes. Turning to look at him, her smirk grew in response to his smile.

"You speak wise guy?" he asked while jogging over to her still form, acknowledging the way his heart rate sped up at the look in her eyes. She shrugged, smiling at him with almost half-lidded eyes.

"Yeah, here and there." On pure impulse, Carmine took Helga's hand in his, relishing the feel of her smooth skin.

"Would you be willin' to go on a date with me?" he asked, and she smiled with a glint in her eye. The same glint that had disappeared with Arnold.

"I don't see why not." She alluded, but gave him a soft squeeze of her hand to show she approved.

"And, uh, could I kiss you?" he muttered, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. Helga faintly remembered the older woman kissing those pink cheeks.

"Usually they buy me dinner first." Helga stated, and watched as Carmine nodded furiously while pulling her over to another food stand.

"I can get you dinner! A cannoli good?" he asked hurriedly while nearly shoving a chocolate cannoli down her throat. She stopped him before he had a chance, but laughed anyway.

"Hey, fughggetaboutit." She smirked, and Carmine smiled as he tossed the dessert onto its stand while simultaneously pulling Helga to him, nearly devouring her mouth. As he kissed her, Helga's mind wandered over a few things she had picked up on. How, of all the strawberry cannolis on the table, he had grabbed the _**only**_ chocolate. That had to be a sign, right?

And the way he kissed her; it certainly wasn't the large fireworks behind the eyelids like she always read about in trashy dime store paperback novels; but then, neither was her first kiss with Arnold. And Carmine, well, he certainly kissed with far more potential than Arnold ever did.

Helga wrapped her arms around Carmine's neck, returning the kiss with an equal amount of gusto.

HA

Arnold sighed as he walked past Helga's apartment build for the third time in half an hour. He hadn't seen nor heard from her all weekend; and while their friendship was strained after the breakup, they still kept in contact once every day or so. He couldn't understand it, but he felt the need to see her, talk to her, maybe even flirt. He missed her.

Phoebe suddenly emerged from the building, and caught sight of him just as he began to run slowly towards her. Weighing her options, she decided to stay and talk with him – besides, he was Gerald's best friend. Since she and Gerald were dating, Phoebe was bound to see him later if she avoided him now.

"Phoebe, have you seen Helga recently? I haven't heard from her in a while." Arnold panted out as the young Kent-Asian looked him over less-than-approvingly.

"She's in Brooklyn visiting a . . . friend." She struggled to find the right word. Helga had called and told her she met a guy in Brooklyn, and while the two were now seeing each other exclusively, Helga didn't want anyone at home to know just yet. Especially not Arnold.

"Oh. I wasn't aware she had a friend in Brooklyn." Arnold let out, feeling bad he didn't know Helga as well as he thought he did. His stomach dropped at the look that took over Phoebe's eyes.

"Yes, there's a lot you don't know about Helga. Let her be, Arnold; she deserves to be happy, _**especially**_ after how you broke her." The small Asian woman snapped, before turning on her heels to leave him with his memories and confusion.

"Yeah, she does." Arnold muttered, remembering the last time he and Helga saw each other, and how it ended in a terrible fight.

Lila had told Helga that she and Lorenzo were going to go on a walk in the wooded area of the neighborhood park, and Arnold had found out. After pressuring Helga, he finally used her love for him as leverage to get her to lead him to the two lovers. Helga was still trying to get him to give up on Lila and see her again, but he snapped.

"_I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lorenzo, and far Lila? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. thou told'st me they were stolen upon this wood; and here am I, and wode within this wood, because I cannot me my Lila. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more." He shouted, shoving Helga towards the main path they had strayed from in order to find the meadow Lila had mentioned._

"_You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; but yet you draw not iron, for my heart is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, and I shall have no power to follow you." Helga quipped back, following him again as he began to trek further into the woods. Her words caused him to spin about and grab her arms, nearly bruising her with his force._

"_Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you?" he emphasized his statement by squeezing her arms one more. She whimpered, but he seemed to have not heard her, and she continued on._

"_And even for that do I love you the more. I am your spaniel; and, Arnold, the more you beat me, I will fawn on you: use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, neglect me, lose me, only give me leave, unworthy as I am, to follow you. What worser place can I beg in your love, - and yet a place of high respect with me, - than to be used as you use your dog?" she pleaded, paying no mind the sore flesh beneath his hands. _

"_Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, for I am sick when I do look on thee." He sneered, forgetting that he was talking to who he once considered a close friend. At his declaration, her eyes watered._

"_And I am sick when I look not on you." Helga whispered, and Arnold growled with frustration as he shoved her into the dirt. Stunned from his reaction to her words, she lay motionless as he climbed onto her in what normally would have been an intimate position. And this was intimate, although not in romance, but in anger._

"_You do impeach your modesty too much, to leave the city and commit yourself into the hands of one that loves you not; to trust the opportunity of night and the ill council of a desert place with the rich worth of your virginity." Granted she was no longer a virgin – she had given that to him long ago. But in saying that she was a virgin, Arnold was trying to say that not only was she acting like a virgin with a sick crush, but that their affair meant little to him. She was still an untouched virgin in his eyes. _

_Arnold's proclamation, though, did little to sway the desperate Helga._

"_Your virtue is my privilege; for that it is not night when I do see your face, therefore I think I am not in the night; nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, for you in my respect are all the world: then how can it be said I am alone, when all the world is here to look on me?" she admonished, wrapping her hands gently around his neck. His anger turned to frustration as he harshly removed her arms and abruptly stood, avoiding her like the plague._

"_I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes, and leave thee to the mercy of the wild beasts." He warned in almost a mocking tone, and Helga stood, wiping the dirt from her pants as she looked at him with smoldering eyes._

"_The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; the dove purses the griffin; the mild hind makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, when cowardice purses and valour flies." Helga's response was even as she sat herself onto a stump to watch Arnold, and he was thrown off by her change in demeanor. _

"_I will not stay thy questions; let me go: or, if thou will follow me, do not believe but I shall do thee mischief in the wood." Arnold replied, suddenly arrogant. Helga sighed as she stood, jumping only slightly when a thunderclap erupted over the air, and rain began to fall._

"_Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, you do me mischief. Fie, Arnold! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: we cannot fight for love, as men may do; we should be wooed, and were not made to woo." She said softly, before smiling and turned to go. Arnold watched her retreating back as the rain continued to fall harder, the hand-shaped bruises on her biceps showing clearly as a sign of guilt he should have felt. _

_But he didn't. He didn't go to her and apologize for his words. Didn't chase after to make sure she made it home safely in the storm. Didn't care anymore._

_Instead, he just turn in the direction he was originally headed, hoping to catch Lorenzo and Lila._

As his memory ended, Arnold felt such a strong sense of shame, that he nearly became physically sick. He realized her missed her more than his parents. And worse still, he may have lost her for good.

And it was all his damn fault.

HA


	3. ACT III

_**Disclaimer: So, I had to expand my material – instead of just **_A Midsummer Night's Dream_**, I'm now working with all Shakespeare, and maybe just a pinch of the Sims 2. And once again, Hey Arnold does not belong to me. Forewarning – this story will contain time skips (should only be a few days to a few weeks). Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

It certainly wasn't the kind of date Arnold had taken her on, Helga was positive of that. And if the age old saying about only fools being positive was true, then she would dress as a king's jester for the rest of her life. For one thing, Carmine had given her back the feeling of having someone else's tongue in your mouth – a feeling she'd been forced to try and remember with the absence of Arnold. The sensation of having your mouth full, as if you had two tongues instead of one but the other had no actual physical connection to your body. She missed that.

After a brief and purely gentlemanly kiss, the two separated with matching blushes adoring the cheeks and a few suggestive cheers from some of the neighbors. A middle-aged man with a bit of a beer gut approached them, a 'cat-that-ate-the-canary' smile and two plain hogs dogs in his hand. He and Carmine shared a short conversation in Italian that Helga couldn't keep up with, let alone process; which ended with the man laughing and Carmine nearly ripping the dogs out of his hands.

"Carino la ragazza." The older man muttered with a grin, and Carmine turned back to Helga with an embarrassed smile.

"Getouttaere." He laughed while returning to Helga's side, handing over her plain hotdog. She took it from him with a smile, as well as a smile and nod towards the gentleman who brought them, and moved to a table that had all the condiments laid out neatly. Carmine watched transfixed as Helga topped her dog with ketchup, mustard, relish, onions, cheese, and a little bit of chili. When she twisted her head to look at him, his smile had turned to a crap-eaten grin and his mouth was partly open.

"What?" She asked casually while taking a bite. By the look in his eyes, she thought he was going to rip her clothes off and ravage her right then and there.

Surprisingly, the thought excited her.

"You gonna eat that?" he managed to sound out, indicating the fully-loaded frank in her delicate hands. She smirked with a raised eyebrow; was that a challenge?

"That's why stacked it, Bianchetti. 'Coarse I'm gonna eat it." She took one end in her mouth and bit down, eyes closing and a moan escaping her throat – if only to drive her point home.

"Marry me." Carmine blurted out. Helga's eyes snapped open, and she nearly choked on the food in her mouth when her laugh caught. Managing to swallow, she flashed him a beautiful open-mouthed smile.

"Whoa, slow down there bucko. I just endured a terrible way to end a relationship, remember?" She laughed at his enthusiasm, and waited for him to make an identical hotdog, before he led her to a neighbor's front lawn. The two sat cross legged in the grass, eating their hotdogs and watching the dance-n-booz fest.

"Right, sorry I forgot about that." Carmine recanted; he didn't know what came over him. He just spouted out the first thing that came to mind at the sight of her bravery to food, the consequences of his words not entering his mind. Luckily, whether she knew he wasn't really joking or not, she played it off like that anyway.

"Hey, fughggetaboutit. So, was that woman working the pastry table your mother or what?" Helga began the necessary small talk in order to make discoveries and bonds. Carmine smiled, shaking his head while pointing to a table in the middle of the street that had several older looking people dressed in black.

"Nah. You see that grey-haired woman sharing wine with all those men that look like they're trying to be Vito Corleone? That's my mother, and those men are my uncles." He explained, and Helga nodded her understanding, taking another bite of her now half-eaten hotdog.

"You said this was celebrating you dad. He died, didn't he?" She asked, figuring to come out with her assumptions would be better than beating around the bush. Carmine whipped his head around to look at her, shocked at first, but then slowly formed a smile.

"Yeah. This is his funeral; while we do mourn the loss, we Italians also celebrate the life. We party in honor of his memory." Helga nodded again.

"So, if that woman isn't your mother, why did you call her mamma?"

"Respect. She may not be my biological mother, but we protect and care for our own; we're like one big family. Aren't you Polacks the same way?" Carmine asked skeptically, and Helga shoved him playfully, but shrugged.

"Thanks for the derogatory. And I wouldn't really know – my family is the only Polish one in my neighborhood. While we do watch out for each other and feel like a giant family, we're incredibly diversified. And we have no where near this level of deep connection. This feels . . . good." She trailed off, mesmerized by the people in front of her, doing an odd sort of partnered foot-kicking dance. Carmine caught her gaze, and stood, feeling like his butt was wet from the grass.

"Wanna give it a shot?" he asked, and she smiled while taking his offered hand. He led her into the street, and pointed at the feet of one couple, explaining into her ear how it was done. She nodded, and turned to face him. He had thought she would want to start out slow, but she immediately picked up on the fast movements and even gave him a run for his money. The two quickly evolved into more complex moves, and by the time the music had ceased, they were the only dancers. The sound of applause alerted Helga to their presence, and she blushed at the positive attention so foreign to her. Carmine bowed, and kissed her hand.

"We're having a weekly block party tomorrow; will you come?" He asked suddenly when Helga mentioned she should probably be heading home. She smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek while heading towards the nearest bus stop.

"Ask me tomorrow." She called over her shoulder, and Carmine smiled cheekily.

"I don't know your number!" He yelled out to her, and watched in fascination as she turned around to walk backwards.

"You're smart. Figure it out." Was her final reply, before smiling sweetly and turning back around to take off running. Carmine just stood there as his cousin Anthony walked over to him, clapping him on the back as they both watched her go.

"Oh madonn', you had better figure it out." Both men laughed, although Carmine was still dazed by the memory of Helga Pataki.

Two blocks down and around the corner, Helga was leaning against the pole that marked the bus stop. She had her arms wrapped around herself in what would appear to be a protective manner, and her head was bent down. An outsider would think that she was upset - maybe even crying - but one look at the genuine smile on her face would dash away all those thoughts.

It was nice to be the one chased after for once in her life.

HA

He was jealous. He was _**jealous**_? _**He**_ was jealous! _**He**_ was _**jealous**_?! Why in the _hell_ was **he** _**jealous**_?! He broke up with her, because he no longer loved her – he was still in love with Lila. He had no reason to be jealous. He didn't love her. He _**did not**_ love her.

So why was he jealous?

Helga and Phoebe were sitting on top of the picnic table at the boat launch the four were sitting at, listening to something off the blonde's phone. Originally, after feeling the guilt from their last argument, Arnold had wanted to avoid his ex-girlfriend until her could come up with an outstanding apology, complete with groveling. But fate, it seemed, was against his plan, because he and Gerald wanted to hang out in a small group. Phoebe is Gerald's girlfriend, so of course she would be there; and Helga is Phoebe's best friend, so by rights alone she would be there.

And Arnold hadn't been able to keep his eye off the seemingly unaffected Helga since she first showed up with a radiant smile on her lovely lips.

A particularly Phoebe-pitched giggle brought him out of his strange thoughts, and both he and Gerald turned their attention from throwing rocks to the girls. Phoebe squealed again, and Helga blushed as she removed the phone from their ears.

"Oh my gosh, Helga, that is _**so sweet**_!" the half Japanese woman gushed, and Helga's blushed deepened as another blissful smile bloomed.

"Whatcha girls talkin about?" Gerald asked, moving up to sit next to his girlfriend, wrapping a secure arm around her waist.

"Oh, nothing Gerald. You wouldn't find it very interesting." Phoebe charmed, and something about the look that crossed Helga's face made harsh covetousness boil in the pit of Arnold's stomach.

"It's ok Phoebe, I'm interested." Arnold said in what he hoped was a convincingly casual tone. Phoebe turned to Helga, who looked at Arnold with a curious expression, before shrugging and pulling out her cell phone. After dialing her voicemail, she turned up the volume to max and held it in the center of the group.

"_One skipped message. First skipped message._" The automated woman's voice chimed monotonously, and Phoebe let out an excited squeal before the message started.

"_Who will believe my verse in time to come, if it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes and in fresh numbers number all your grace, the age to come would say 'This poet lies; such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' So should my papers yellow'd with their age be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, and your true rights be term'd a poet's rage and stretched metre of an antique song: but were some child of yours alive that time, you should live twice; in it and in my rhyme._" Phoebe let out a soft sigh, and turned to Gerald, hitting him in the arm.

"Why can't you do anything romantic like that?" she snapped, and Gerald tried to apologize. Arnold caught the gentle look in Helga's eyes at the message; and then it hit him with full force. That was a man's voice. A man who sounded like he was in love.

"Who was that?" He asked gently, and Helga finally removed her gaze from the phone to Arnold.

"Carmine Bianchetti; my boyfriend." She informed him, all the while keeping eye contact and not a hint of remorse.

It was in that instant Arnold remembered all the good times they had together. The hot sex, sweet moments, the retained friendship . . . Flashbacks of the senior trip after graduation, getting milkshakes at the ice cream parlor, and dancing together at late night dock parties flooded his mind. Helga had always been willing to do anything for him, and had sacrificed so much already for his sake. And what? He pretty much swiped her feet out from under her; just to go after a woman who obviously wanted nothing to do with him.

And now she was moving on.

"So, you and this Carmine, you have a lot in common?" Arnold asked, hopping up to sit next to her while Gerald and Phoebe moved to throw rocks into the bay.

"Mostly. We both play baseball, are allergic to strawberries, addicted to Spike™ and Sinatra, and both speak wise guy. But at the same time, we have our disagreements and our own opinions. I like to think we're like Yin and Yang, balancing each other out to make a complete being. _**He**_ says we're two bodies sharing the same soul; I think that's an Italian thing." She laughed, and Arnold felt another pang of jealousy. Hadn't he balanced with Helga as well? Suddenly, a purely conniving and horrible thought came into his mind; worse still, he didn't immediately chase it away.

"Well, I'm glad you found someone you're so compatible with. Hey, think I could use your cell phone? I left mine at home." He asked innocently, and Helga nodded while handing hers over without much thought. With a nod in thanks, Arnold took the offered phone and left the immediate area, bending over the phone and setting his plan into action. Searching through her address book, he found the name 'Carmine', and highlighted it to send a text message.

_Our dates were such a waste of time, the thought of them is like a knife. So if you think to try once more, don't call again, it steals my life._

Snickering in a guilty way, he hit send, before closing the phone and going back over to Helga to hand it over. She looked at him suspiciously, but shook whatever thoughts she had away, and the four returned to catching up on what had changed in their lives.

*

Carmine looked at his phone, complete rendered speechless at the words that stared up at him harshly. Helga didn't want to see him anymore? But, they had hit it off so well, hadn't they? Suddenly, Anthony strolled into the living room, a smile on his lips and a spring in his step.

"Good marrow, cousin." He greeted happily, but was stopped short at his cousin's soft moan.

"Is the day so young?" Carmine moaned again, closing his phone in order to bury his head in his hands.

"But new struck nine." Anthony shot a quick glance at the wall clock, surprised at his cousin's sudden depression.

"Ay me! Sad hours seem long." He moaned again, and Anthony was immediately at his side. Carmine had been on cloud nine since he'd met Helga a little over two months ago. What could possibly have struck him down?

"What sadness lengthens Carmine's hours?"

"Not having that, which, having, makes them short." Carmine moaned again, and Anthony quickly knew what was plaguing his cousin.

"In love?" he asked knowingly, and Carmine suddenly stood.

"Out-"

"Of love?"

"Out of her favour, where I am in love." Carmine was finally able to voice, only to pull out his cell phone, and show his cousin the message that had come from Helga. After reading it, Anthony was shocked and felt sympathy for the man.

"Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!" he exclaimed while handing back the device. Carmine only nodded, bemoaning his luck once more.

"Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?" he asked, finally taking a good look at his family, only to catch that he had a black eye and dirty, ripped clothes. Anthony must have been brawling with other men in the family again, trying to prove his worth.

"O me! What fray was here? Yet, tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! Serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?" Carmine shot off, watching as his cousin sank in his seat on the couch. He knew Carmine was never one for the show of force the men in this neighborhood liked to strut about – he should have known better than to come straight here after what had become 'cock fights'.

"No, coz, I rather weep." Anthony's voice mirrored the melancholy sound of his cousin's when he first showed up.

"Good heart, at what?" Carmine asked exasperatedly.

"At thy good heart's oppression." Anthony sighed, and Carmine felt as if his older cousin was suddenly younger.

"Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest with more of thine: this love that thou hast shown doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz." After his small outburst, Carmine could no longer take the confines of the room. He made for the front door, and was somewhat surprised to hear Anthony's rise from the couch cushions.

"Soft! I will go along; an if you leave me so, you do me wrong." Anthony followed him out, playfully hitting Carmine in the back of the head. It brought out a smile, but was no where near what Anthony was hoping for.

"Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; this is not Carmine, he's some other where." Carmine moaned, and Anthony came to an idea on how to help his cousin.

"Be ruled by me, forget to think of her." He suggested, and Carmine stopped dead in his tracks.

"O, teach me how I should forget to think." He was being sarcastic, but Anthony didn't pick up on it as he pulled his cousin towards their group car parked in the driveway.

"By giving liberty unto thine eyes; examine other beauties." He explained as if it were obvious. Carmine scoffed, and didn't join his cousin in the car. He simply leaned into the driver's rolled down window in order to better address Anthony.

"'Tis the way to call hers exquisite, in question more; these happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows being black put us in mind they hide the fair; he that is stricken blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost: show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve, but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget." He insisted before beginning a trek down the street. Anthony, surprised at his cousin's devotion to a woman who obviously wanted nothing more to do with him, stuck his head out the window for a final retort.

"I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt."

Carmine simply raised a hand to show that he heard him, and the curses that flowed from the other Italian's mouth in response to the action.

And as he heard the wheels peel out of the driveway, and the car speed down the street, Carmine couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right. He pulled out his cell phone again, rereading the message, and wondering where all that animosity came from. _Our dates were such a waste of time, the thought of them is like a knife. So if you think to try once more, don't call again, it steals my life._ She had never once showed any hint of having something less than a good time. What did this message mean?

What ever it meant, Carmine was certainly not going to let this go without a face-to-face understanding. He was not going to let the best thing in his life go without a fight.

HA


	4. ACT IV

_**Disclaimer: Head up, I still don't own Hey Arnold, or Shakespeare. I think some of you may actually hate me for this. Sorry, no refunds. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

She sat on the stoop of her apartment complex, head in her hands watching the cars go by. Carmine hadn't called her in a few days, and she was growing concerned over his silence. He hadn't met Lila, had he?

With a heavy sigh, she pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down until she came to Carmine's number. As she hit her green phone button and held the speaker to her face, a voice broke the partial silence she had grown up with.

"Who're you calling?" snapping her head up, Helga's eyes caught Carmine's, and a smile immediately bloomed across her lips.

"Carmine! I was beginning to think I'd never hear your voice again." She voiced her fears, but her smile faded when he didn't return it, nor make a move towards her. She allowed her eyes to flutter towards Anthony who stood flanking Carmine, but he wasn't smiling either.

"And why would you, when you told me to never call again?" Carmine stated in a low voice, and Helga's brows knitted together in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" she asked while shaking her head, nothing but bewilderment in her voice. But Carmine was on a mission, and didn't read into tones and voice inflexions.

"This, Helga, I'm talking about this." He insisted, pulling out his cell phone and opening the text message from her. As she read it, Helga's mouth dropped from shock, and her eyes reflected hurt when she brought them back up to his.

"This is incredibly hurtful; you think I wrote this and sent it to you?" she asked, surprise, but no fight in her voice. Once again, Carmine couldn't hear it.

"It came from your phone, Helga."

"Carmine, I didn't write this." She stated flat out, and Carmine scoffed. Anthony, meanwhile, caught sight of two men approaching them from down the street. He had been in Helga's apartment, seen her photos and heard the stories of Arnold. Putting a hand to his cousin's shoulder, Anthony nodded towards the other two men. Helga caught the action, and turned her head in their direction. With wide eyes, she looked at the message in her hands, then back at Arnold. No, it couldn't be, he wouldn't . . .

Arnold and Gerald, meanwhile, had watched as Carmine and Anthony advanced on Helga; and Arnold suddenly felt sick again.

"Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Bianchetti's." He warned, and Gerald nodded while rubbing his bare knuckles.

"My naked weapon is out: quarrel: I will back thee." The dark skinned man confirmed, and Arnold clapped him on the back with a smile.

"How! Turn thy back and run?" he joked, and Gerald shoved him playfully.

"Fear me not." Gerald took on a good guy pose, and Arnold put up his hands in mock defense.

"No, marry; I fear thee!" the two laughed, only to fade when they noticed Anthony and Carmine were watching them with dark eyes. Quietly, Gerald learned over to whisper the game plan in his friend's ear.

"Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin." Arnold nodded, and then it was his turn to lean into his friend's ear.

"I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list." Gerald returned the nod, then held up a hand to stop his friend.

"Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bare it."

As Arnold and Gerald reached the three standing on the stoop, Gerald bit down on his thumb. Carmine groaned and turned away, while Anthony nearly tore the black man's head off. Helga placed a calming hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, Anthony forgot why he and his cousin were there.

"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" he asked in a voice full of restraint. Both Hillwood boys grew matching smirks, and Helga had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"I do bite my thumb, sir." Gerald shrugged, and Arnold snickered that guilty sound again.

"Do you bite your thumb at _**us**_, sir?" Anthony emphasized, motioning between himself and Carmine. Gerald faltered, and pulled Arnold aside in conference.

"Is the law of our side, if I say ay?" Arnold thought it over, then shook his head.

"No." Satisfied, the two returned to the conflict.

"No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir." Gerald charmed, and Helga groaned with an eye roll. Carmine turned his attention to her, but Arnold had to resurrect the hostility.

"Do you quarrel, sir?" he asked Carmine with a smug look, but Anthony responded.

"Quarrel, sir!" he shouted enthusiastically, but an arresting look from his cousin had him calm, cool, and collected again, "no, sir." he sighed.

"If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you." Gerald announced with a smile, a hand resting reassuringly on Arnold's shoulder.

"No better." Anthony stated, nodding towards Carmine who really had no interest in the confrontation up until this point. He may not be one for senseless fighting, but he was still a full-blooded Italian, and they always defend their honor.

"Well, sir." Gerald faltered again, and Arnold came to his rescue.

"Say 'better'." Arnold conferred, and Gerald understood where this was going.

"Yes, better, sir." Gerald stated proudly, and both Bianchettis rounded on Arnold and Gerald with a murderous intent.

"You lie." Anthony sneered while Carmine subconsciously moved to stand in front of Helga.

"Draw, if you be men. Arnold, remember thy swashing blow." The atmosphere was like a powder keg, just waiting for the igniter – and Gerald's statement was the spark. No one was really sure who threw the first punch, but the next thing Helga knew, the four of them were in an all out fight to the death on the street. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Helga rushed forward and pulled the men apart, shoving them away from each other.

"Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do!" she shouted, pushing them back in their advancements to beat each other. When the killing intent had diluted, and she felt it was safe to release Carmine and Arnold from her grasp; she sighed and moved towards her stoop.

"Helga, we still need to talk about this!" Carmine shouted after her, and she smiled at him with heart wrenching sorrow.

"No, I think you and Arnold need to talk about this." she replied softly, before leaving the four men confused on her stoop for a few minutes. When she returned, she had her purse and a different air about her; they were still in baffled silence. She stood taller than them, watching with hard eyes as one by one the lifted their gaze to make eyes contact with her.

"You are arrant knaves, all; I'll believe none of you. I'll go thy ways to a nunnery." She announced, and of the four men she addressed, only Carmine understood what she meant.

"Helga . . ." he began, but she held up a hand to silence him.

"You know, I have done some horrible things, but I've atoned for them in my own way. I think I deserve better than this. I deserved to be trusted." She said pointedly, sending a sharp glance at Carmine. Quickly she turned, addressing Arnold with the same narrow look.

"I deserve to be happy." The other three men stared at Arnold, who lowered his head, unable to keep her gaze. Helga released a hallow laugh, utterly broken and already rebuilding the walls from her childhood.

"So much for the Do-Goody Arnold, huh, Football Head? It's a shame, I was just starting to forgive him; come to find he was assassinated by the manipulating bastard that stands before me now. Che, men." She laughed again, before moving to the side of the street to flag down a taxi. When one finally pulled over to aide the young woman, she looked back to the men who had turned to watch her leave.

"Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe." She told Carmine, and when he sent her a perplex expression, she continued, "Arnold, why don't you tell Carmine about that message he received." Was the last thing she said before climbing into the back seat, swiftly shutting the door behind her.

"Um, airport please?" She asked, and the cabby nodded, pulling back into traffic and away from the super-charged aggression.

All the while, Anthony and Gerald turned their attention back to Arnold, who had gone to sit on the stoop. Carmine was still watching the taxi take Helga away, unable to shake an overwhelming sense of dread that had washed over him.

"Arnold, what was she talkin about man?" Gerald asked, and it was then Carmine remembered Helga's parting words.

"It was you that sent me that message, wasn't it? Not Helga." The young brown-haired man assumed, turned back to Arnold with eyes holding an unfathomable amount of anger. Arnold sighed, and nodded in confirmation.

"Yes."

Before anyone had a chance to react, Carmine had his hands fisted in the collar of Arnold's shirt, the smaller blonde man shoved against the nearest wall.

"Listen you little strunzo, you are going to tell me everything about Helga, and you're gonna tell me now. Capisce?" He whispered through gritted teeth, slamming Arnold against the wall one more time for good measure. Arnold nodded, and let out a shaky breath when he felt his feet re-establish contact with the ground.

HA

Helga had never been a woman who runs away from her problems; never. Well, Arnold was a sick weakness, but after that last fight when things were over indefinitely, she had vowed that she would stop running from him. But on that stoop not fifteen minutes ago, when Carmine had accused her of writing such a cruel Dear John letter, not even hearing her out – and then, by some stupid twist of fate, Arnold and Gerald show up. It suddenly became unbearable for her.

She knew that she had to leave, it didn't matter where, she just had to leave. And that was how she ended up in the ticket lobby of the Hillwood City Airport, staring at the ever changing departure and arrival times. It all made sense, really; why she couldn't ever get what she wanted: someone else took it from her. Olga took her parents, Lila took Arnold, Arnold took Carmine – what was next? And in all honesty, what had she done in her life to earn the right to keep these good things?

She was awful to people who would try to get close to her; kept them at arms distance to protect herself while simultaneously hurting them. She mocked, yelled, and even hit her classmates from first grade all the way up to eighth.

She was a bully.

Helga had been cruel and nearly heartless most of her life. Why should things go well for her now?

"Excuse me, miss?" a soft voice interrupted her thoughts, and Helga lifted her gaze to the woman behind the counter in front of her near the baggage check. Smiling, Helga realized she had been zoning out at the reader board for damn near ten minutes.

"Sorry. Rome, Italy, one way please." The woman smiled, and accepted Helga's debit card as she rang up the charge. After shallow small talk, Helga was directed to her gate, which was all the way at the end of building. Just outside the terminal was the security check point, which she passed through easy enough without any hassle.

As she was sitting on the bench re-tying her shoes next to a woman a bit older than herself, the metal detector went off, and the security guard let out a surprised gasp. Turning towards the noise, Helga spotted a man with what appeared to be a homemade bomb strapped to his chest hidden beneath a long trench coat. The amount of explosives had to have equaled her weight near to a t, with flashing lights and a detonator in his hand. The security personnel couldn't move in on him, because it was painfully obvious the detonator was a pressure release one – if the death grip he held it in was any indication.

"He has to know he wasn't going to get on the plane . . ." Helga whispered to herself, looking around the terminal. There were a lot of people in the immediate area, not running out of fear that the slightest movement would set him off. Rapid flashes of light caught her eye, and Helga returned her gaze to the bomber – his lights appearing to pick up momentum. Then it hit her: he hadn't intended to get on any plane.

Helga knew next to nothing about bombs, but she was positive that fast blinking lights picking up speed were _**never**_ good.

Jumping to her feet, Helga grabbed the first person within reach that was closest to the bomber – a middle-aged man who went through the detector moments before the bomber – and began to pull him towards her. There really wasn't much time for a scream, anyone's scream, as the lights reached a crescendo before suddenly stopping. There was an eerie moment of silence, like in the eye of a hurricane, before an ear-splitting bang and a bright light filled the area. It was as if a star exploded as an invisible force field of hot gas and debris rippled through the terminal, sending people to the ground. Helga had used the force to her advantage, moving the man she had grabbed from above to beneath her as they both went over the bench. Helga's body acted as a shield between the man and the force of the explosion.

All around Helga was darkness, and there was all at once both roaring silence and deafening cacophony. The heat and the wind engulfed her, almost as if it were a protective mother's embrace if it wasn't for all the pain.

And there was so much pain.

HA


	5. ACT V

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold, Shakespeare, or much else for that matter. WARNING: This chapter contains graphic language, strong and multiple use of derogatory terms (more than the one Polack in ACT III), and sexual content. This is the chapter that forced me to up the rating to 'M'. Hope you guys enjoy it. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

Carmine was heartsick after hearing all that Arnold had to tell. Helga had done so much for him, and he still fed her to the hounds; it was a wonder she had chased after him all these years, and then still tried to keep him after he moved for Lila. Slowly the anger built up in the younger Italian, that by the time Arnold arrived to the part in their story where he tried to sabotage Helga and Carmine's relationship, Carmine exploded. Exploded in a fiery blast of Mediterranean fury.

"Faccia di merda! Faccia di strunzo! Filmaccio, Arnold, filamaccio!" He shouted, and Arnold was taken aback at the sudden outburst in a foreign language. Anthony, who hadn't heard his cousin call someone a stupid son of a bitch in a long time, just laughed at the nervous looks on Arnold and Gerald's faces.

"What?" Arnold finally mustered out, causing Carmine to grow even more agitated.

"You stupid fuckin' mangiapatate! Fuckin' cruccos, don't know what they want till it's fuckin gone. Fuckin' Krauts." Carmine began again, and although only Anthony could follow most of the insults, Arnold certainly knew what the last one was.

"Oh, so now the goombah's breaking out the racist terms? I know a few myself, greaseball!" Arnold shot back, much to the chagrin of Anthony and Gerald. Trying to be a peacemaker, Gerald stepped between the two men, pushing them apart; in so doing suddenly had a feeling of how Helga felt.

"Hey guys! Cool it!" he shouted but Carmine, who was too hyped up on post-fight adrenaline, saw it as another confrontation opportunity.

"Shut up mosshead!"

Before things became outrageously physical again, a radio inside the Bianchetti's car sparked to life.

"_All units be advised, we have a 10-80 at the Hillwood City Airport, casualties, explosives confirmed. Repeat, all units, we have a 10-80 at Hillwood City Airport, casualties, explosives confirmed._" The woman working dispatch voiced, and Anthony went pale.

"Fuckin Christ, not again. Not in my city again." He muttered darkly, startling the two men who hadn't met him before that day. The violent atmosphere vanished altogether when the older Italian left the group to pull out his radio as fast as possible.

"10-4 Dispatch, ETA ten minutes." He said, before running over to Carmine. In a rush of fear, Anthony placed a heated and forceful kiss to his cousin's forehead.

"Farewell, brother; pray thou for me; and god luck grant thee thy Helga." He blessed, and as he ran back to the car, the three on the stoop could still hear him talk to himself.

"There's no trust, no faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, all forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old." As soon as Anthony was in the driver's seat, he pulled out a portable police light, and turned it on, speeding off on the trail left by the taxi Helga was in not too long ago.

"Hey Arnold, can I ask you something?" Carmine asked after several awkward minutes of silence. Arnold nodded, and even though Carmine couldn't see it, he seemed to know his blonde companion was listening.

"Why? Why did you leave her?" he inquired softly, turning to read the expressions on the other man's face. Realizing this was one of those questions that require in-depth and complicated answers, Arnold sat himself on the stoop, motioning for the other's to mirror his actions. Once everyone was seated moderately comfortably, the blonde man heaved a sigh before beginning his story.

"You know, I've been asking myself that ever since I found out she was dating you; I think it was partly because she had become too convenient. What had initially drawn me to her again and again when we were children was the fact that she was a mystery, a seemingly impossible-to-solve enigma. She would bring me in with a kind action, and push me away with harsh name calling in the same moment.

"It was like she was the Sphinx, and I was Oedipus: she had this riddle that was potentially deadly to anyone who dared to solve and failed. And I enter, a cursed young man, who correctly answers her challenge. She is forced to destroy herself, and I can't help but feel that Helga's version of destruction was to acquiesce herself to me. Being my girlfriend meant she couldn't be as snarky and callous towards our classmates as she had been, if only because I hated that side of her. I unwittingly tamed the fiery side I loved so much; the side you bring out." Arnold explained, and Carmine had to give the guy some credit – he had to of thought about this for a while. He came up with a descriptive analogy, and really delved into the psychological aspect of things. But something still didn't feel right with the Italian, and he'd be damned if he'd just sit on his hands.

"So why try and ruin her chance with me? You framed her with a nasty Dear John letter – that sounds a like bit more than indecision." Carmine shot back, and Gerald, for once, was siding with someone other than his best friend. Well, at least in a fight he was not personally involved in against the blonde.

"I couldn't stand the thought of her moving on. As awful as this sounds, Helga has always been my fall back. I've known since sixth grade how she felt about me, and so she was always there when a relationship with a girlfriend went bad. And I couldn't stand the thought of you taking her away from me and making her happier than I ever could." Even as he spoke, Arnold clenched his fists and his knuckles became white. Seeing this, Carmine chuckled darkly, catching an equally dark look from both Arnold and Gerald.

"Arnold, you really are a strunzo – a piece o' shit. You're treating Helga like some kind of fuckin item, but she's a human being. A fuckin human being, and all you can think of is how you want to possess her while havin' nothin' to do with her at the same time." He mouthed, and before another word could be said a wildly fast tempo of drums, guitars and violins broke out from Carmine's pocket. Fishing through it, he pulled out a cell phone and answered without looking at the I.D.

"Boun' anima." He greeted, quickly hearing Anthony's voice.

"_Carmine, I have, it's, fuck cousin, I have some bad news._" He finally blurted, and Carmine immediately silenced Arnold and Gerald who had begun to bicker over the treatment Helga deserved.

"What is it, Anthony?" even thought nothing had been said yet, Carmine's voice was already cracking from emotion.

"_It's Helga. She was at the airport I was called to for a bomb going off. Carmine, she's been taken to Hillwood Mercy General._" He could feel his stomach drop, and nodded even though Anthony couldn't see it. His cousin figured as much, and no other words were said as both parties ended the connection. With a set face, Carmine turned his attention to the men Helga had known since near infancy.

"A bomb went off where Helga was – the airport. She's in the hospital now."

*

She had been in surgery for four hours, the doctors working tirelessly to remove the twisted metal and wood from her body. Working tirelessly to help satiate the burns on parts of her back, neck, arms, and legs. Working tirelessly to stop the internal bleeding.

It had been four hours, and Carmine was still pacing the waiting room, trying to keeps his mind positive. Arnold was pretending to read a magazine, but his eyes hadn't moved from the same spot in over twenty minutes. Gerald was nervously chewing on his thumbnail while his legs bounced anxiously, eyes bouncing to the clock every now and again. Suddenly a set of doors burst open, and for a moment the three men allowed their hopes to rise – only to have then dashed away at the sight of a very distraught Phoebe.

"Gerald Johansson, if you had anything to do with this!" she started, only to break into hysteric sobs as her boyfriend tried to console her. Carmine went back to pacing, even taking his pent up frustration out on a vending machine that would have been more than willing to give him what he wanted – if only he had inserted money. But he knew he couldn't just hit B6 and have Helga slide out from behind the flap.

Another three hours later, when Carmine was sure he was going to self-combust with worry, a doctor walked in with a weary expression. The group didn't get excited – since their seven hours of waiting, multiple doctors had entered the room, although none were for them. But this time, the doctor b-lined for the small group of four, and Carmine was the first on his feet.

"Are you four with Helga Pataki?" the doctor asked, and Carmine nodded.

"Yeah doc. Ya gotta give me somethin'; how's she doin'?" he began, and it was under the extreme stress that his thick accent came out in force.

"We managed to remove all the debris and stop her bleeding while saving all her vital organs. She'll be in the hospital recuperation for quite a while, but she should make a full recovery. I have to give it to her, this woman is a fighter. She's still groggy from the anesthesia and other medications, but one of you can go in to see her now if you like. Just try not to excite her. Room 608." He smiled, and Carmine nearly fell to his knees, tears undoubtedly gathering in his eyes.

"Thank you doc, thank you so much." He vigorously shook the doctor's hand, a blinding smile on his lips. The doctor, Philip Stevens, was certain he was in the presence of a man in love. Doc. Stevens smiled before walking away to tend toother patients, and Carmine turned to the three who had remained silent. Phoebe looked like she desperately wanted to go visit her friend, but held back her desires and nodded her consent to Carmine, Gerald agreeing with her. Carmine smiled, and held out a hand of peace.

"Thank you, and hey, sorry about the name." He apologized, but Gerald waved it away even as Phoebe grew a confused look on her face.

"Don't worry about it man; now go." As Carmine smiled wider and made a move for her room, Arnold finally voiced his thoughts.

"Why do you get to see her? Less than twelve hours ago you were breaking up with her, and now you're running to her side!" he shouted, and in a single swift movement Carmine had swung around and pegged Arnold in the left cheek and nose with a mean right hook.

"Figlio di puttana, Arnold." He spat, and then continued his trek towards Helga, cursing Arnold for wasting so much of his time. When he finally found her room, she was still asleep, but looked peaceful at least. With nothing else to do, Carmine pulled out his lighter from his jeans pocket and a pack of cigarettes he kept hidden in his sleeves. Quickly lighting up, he took an appreciative drag before grabbing her soft, pale hand and stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

HA

It was dark and thick and there was still so much pain. And then . . . then the pain began to fade beneath the layers of painkillers. Oh, it all made sense now, why they were call painkillers, rather than pain reducers. Because they _**kill**_ the pain. She was swimming, but towards what or in what, she had not the faintest idea. And suddenly, she heard it.

"_Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm._" A purely male voice sang off-key softly, stroking the curves of her lips, sending a shiver down her spine. And that accent, that New York Italian, making her feel the need to blush.

"_And your cheeks so soft._" The hand moved away form her lips to caress the skin of her cheek just below her left eye, wordlessly begging her to open her eyes.

"_There's nothing for me but to love you, and the way you look tonight._" He chuckled, and Helga slowly began to feel the strength to open her eyes.

"_My life is yours, and all because you came into my world with love, speak softly love._" He whispered, and a smirk danced across her lips as she de-lidded her orbs.

"Those aren't the words." She croaked, and laughed as the legs beneath the chair next to her came out from under the person sitting.

"She speaks: O speak again bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air." He flattered, and she smiled sadly. She wanted to talk about the confrontation they had outside her apartment, she really did. But Carmine looked so worn and relieved, that all she could do was mutter out a small:

"Ay, me." she smiled weakly. He could see the conflict in her eyes, and took her fingers in his cigarette-free hand.

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." He moved in to kiss her lips, but she backed her head away. His words were his apology in a way, but she would not forgive just yet. She would make him work for it.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." Helga smirked, taking his hand in hers to hold. The instant the beautiful smirk crossed her lips, Carmine knew he would enjoy working for her forgiveness.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?" he asked innocently, and she smirked again. Boy, did he catch on quick.

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." She pointed out, and Carmine felt something deeper than lust stirring within him.

"O, then, dear saint, let not lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." It was his turn to smirk as he leaned over her, watching her eyes glitter.

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." Helga said pointedly, and Carmine moved so his lips were just barely touching hers.

"Then move not while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." He whispered, before moving in to kiss her hungrily. When they finally parted, she had a bemused smile on her face.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took?" she asked almost too sweetly, and it took Carmine a moment to realize what she implied.

"Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." He dove in for another kiss, this one lasting much longer than the other, and both were panting when he pulled away.

"You kiss by the book." She whispered, smiling as he moved in to kiss again.

"I'll say." A third voice entered the room, and both Carmine and Helga turned their attention towards the door, where a middle-aged woman in a nurse's smock was busy waving her hand in front of her face and neck.

"Oh no, don't stop by my account. And this is a hospital – no smoking inside." She smirked before abandoning the door frame to wonder down the hall. Both then looked at the still-burning cigarette in his hand, and Carmine laughed as he found a clear spot on the floor to ground it out.

"I forgot I lit it." he admitted, and Helga chuckled while rolling her eyes.

"You ginzos and your vices." Carmine grinned cheekily while inclining his head towards his lover.

"Admit it, you Polacks are the same way." They shared a laugh, but it quickly died in Carmine's throat as he looked at Helga seriously.

"You had me really scared there, Helga. I thought I was going to lose you forever." She smiled warmly, and, sensing his moment of weakness, lifted up her sheets and invited him to join her. He did, and soon he was nestled comfortably between her legs, his head pillowed on her breasts and the blanket stopped at his waist. Helga was rubbing soft circles on his back, ignoring the dull ache that ran through her body with his added weight. He began to tremble faintly, so Helga began to softly hum _Speak Softly Love_ while caressing him soothingly, and he kissed the area he figured her heart was.

And that was how Doctor Stevens found them twenty minutes later, asleep from the day's events.

HA


	6. ACT VI

_**Disclaimer: I said it before and I'll say it again: Hey Arnold, Shakespeare, and anything thing else I reference that obviously does not belong to me . . . well, doesn't belong to me. For those who are really into Shakespeare, this chapter could possibly make you cry. I know, I promised you sexual content in the last chapter, but I got too tired to write it in. So, you get it here instead. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

Helga stirred slowly, her eyes fluttering a few moments before opening briefly. The light of the room though proved too much for one attempt, so she tried three or four more times before her orbs opened and stayed that way. The weight on her lower body shifted, causing her to hiss in pain as the skin that healed onto her bandages tore again. The weighty mass immediately moved again to rest comfortably between her parted legs, a nervous kiss was placed on her naval as an apology.

"Shit, I'm sorry Helga. I'm so sorry." When Helga reopened her eyes, which had closed due to the pain, she caught Carmine's gaze and couldn't quite decide if he was apologizing for her most recent pain or a deeper one. She smiled, and ran a comforting hand along his hairline.

"Hey, it's about time you got between my legs." Her smile shifted smoothly into a smirk as he grew his own to match. Leaning up, Carmine moved his lips over Helga's, sensuously swallowing her light moan.

"You know, kissing isn't the only thing I do by the book." He muttered, and soaked in her soft laughter as he punctuated his comment with a small rolling of his hips. Her laughter rose as she moved her hips in the opposite direction.

"I do hope we're thinking of the same book." She muttered, and when Carmine thrust slightly, they shared a grin.

"Kama Sutra." They answered together and combined their laughter, until he cut it short when he caught sight of the only clock in the room. Mumbling quiet curses to himself, he grabbed for the remote to the TV off the nightstand, and rolled over. Still nestled between her legs and her arms around his chest, Carmine pointed the remote towards the wall-box and flipped the channels until he landed on ESPN.

Helga looked at him flabbergasted, until she noticed what was happening on the sports channel. The first of three games between the Yankees and the Mariners was starting, and Carmine's eyes were glued to the screen. Yankees were pitching first, and when the first Mariner up to bat was walked, the young man between her legs threw a small tantrum.

"Oh Madonn; come _**on**_! Don't _**walk**_ him! What is _**wrong**_ with you?! _**Fesso**_!" he shouted at the TV, his thick accent emerging in his disappointment. Helga laughed, throwing her arms up in a way that wouldn't hurt or jar her healing wounds.

"Whoo! Go Mariners!" she cheered, and Carmine whipped his head up to stare at her incredulously. She simply smirked and kissed his forehead, before giving her undivided attention to the baseball game. He kept watching her, and when she noticed he made no comment about the next Mariner being struck out she looked down at him again.

"What?" Helga asked tenderly, and Carmine smiled cheekily.

"Just wonderin how I fell for a crazy dame who roots for the Mariners." She smirked and lightly smacked him upside the head.

"You ass." She punctuated, and Carmine laughed as he resituated himself for comfort.

"I pray thee, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?" he gave her a sly smirk, one that she returned in kind.

"For all of them together; which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?" Carmine let loose a bark of laughter, and Helga eyed him suspiciously.

"Suffer love! a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will." Helga hit him again, but the well-meaning smile on his face prevented the blow from being worse than it could have been.

"In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates." Helga replied thoughtfully, and Carmine sighed.

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably." He muttered, and Helga smiled while nodding in her agreement.

"It appears not in this confession: there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself."

"An old, an old instance, Helga, that lived in the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps." She eyed him curiously.

"And how long is that, think you?"

"Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum: therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy." Carmine listened attentively as she laughed at his words, and suddenly couldn't stop the words that come rushing from his mouth.

"Do not you love me?" he asked, and Helga looked startled. Slowly, though, a smile bloomed on her lips, and her eyes glinted playfully.

"Why, no; no more than reason. Do not you love me?" she returned, and Carmine knew where this was going.

"Troth, no; no more than reason. Then you do not love me?" He asked again, and her smile widened.

"No, truly, but in friendly recompense."

Before the two could continue asking the same question over and over with different words, other voices entered the conversation.

"Come, Helga, I am sure you love the gentleman." Phoebe pointed out as she entered the room, Gerald and Anthony flanking her. Arnold entered as well, nursing a black eye and shocked at the sight greeting him, but remained quiet. Gerald flopped into the chair by the bed, while Phoebe sat on her friend's feet atop the blankets and Anthony leaned against the far wall.

"And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves her; for here's a paper written in his hand, a halting sonnet of his own pure brain, fashion'd to Helga." Carmine's cousin smirked as he pulled out a terribly creased piece of paper from his pocket. Carmine blushed when the paper was handed over to Helga, who eyed him with amusement.

"And here's another writ in Helga's hand, stolen from her pocket, containing her affection unto Carmine." Phoebe offered as she handed the young man a small brown book. Arnold was shocked; once there was a little pink book dedicated to _**his**_ existence.

After both had looked over each other's words and glared at the traitors around them, Carmine exhaled loudly and laughed.

"A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but by this light, I take thee for pity." He announced, and then it was Helga's turn to laugh as she made her own statement.

"I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption." Both in the bed looked to Anthony, who shrugged with a smile. Carmine laughed again, taking Helga's face in his hands.

"Peace! I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will stop your mouth." And with that, he kissed her. When the two separated, no one could really speak; the emotions of seeing Helga alive and mostly-well rising in their throats. Finally, Anthony pushed himself from the wall and went to Helga's side, taking her hand with a concerned smile.

"How do you feel, cousin?" he inquired and Helga smiled at the endearing term he used, touched that he thought of her as family.

"Well, I nearly died saving a man I don't – is there any word on the other people from the terminal?" she asked Anthony frantically, whose face turned somber at the question.

"Well, it wasn't as powerful a bomb as originally thought. The bomber is dead, along with the two security guards, and a lot of the passengers were injured. The man you pulled away survived – hell, he was able to walk away and give us a statement at the scene. He has you to thank for that." Helga blushed, but waved Anthony's last comment away with a simple hand gesture.

"Just doing my civic duty." She admonished, before looking around the room and allowing her eyes to land on Arnold, who was brooding in the corner.

"Sir, I desire some confidence with you. Could you give us leave for a moment?" Helga asked those around her, smiling reassuringly at them as they left her side one by one. She placed a kiss on Carmine's forehead with a whispered promise of love when he looked at her suddenly, soothing away his fears as he, too, left the room. Once they were alone, Helga watched Arnold with weary eyes, burning holes into his conscience.

"Arnold, thou art a villain." Was her quiet charge, and Arnold felt as if he were thrown back into the wall. He moved towards her bed, but she continued before he could reply.

"To answer that, I should confess to you." She said with hurt eyes, and Arnold felt enraged, the memory of Helga and Carmine in each other's arms smoldered into his memory.

"Do not deny to him that you love me!" he whispered harshly, pointing erratically towards the door he was sure Carmine was standing outside.

"I will confess to you that I love him." Came the soft rebuttal. Arnold felt at a loss for words, yet he still managed to find a few that conveyed his disbelief.

"So will ye, I am sure, that you love me."

Instead of voicing a reply, Helga shook her head slowly. Arnold stood at the foot of her bed, his mouth agape, staring at Helga as his astonishment slowly turned to uncensored aggression.

"And where did that love go?! You have told me so often that you love me, and have since we were three! What happened to have removed the love you held for me from your heart so suddenly?!" He shouted, and swiftly the emptiness in Helga's eyes turned to fury.

"Your callousness it was did it in! How you so willingly cast me aside for 'fair Lila', even though she is with Lorenzo! And now that I have finally found the courage to move on, you try to ruin me."

"You said you love me, and yet you can never give me a reason. And then to move on so quickly after dismissal? Helga, it's obvious I'm not the villain here – I never have been. It was always you, the one who mocked and emotionally beat the people you deceitfully call friends, who is the true villain here." He concluded, and Helga looked at him softly once more.

"Arnold, the reason that I had to love thee doth much excuse the appertaining rage to such a greeting: villain I am none; therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not." Helga would have been content to let the rest fall where it would, but Arnold could no longer be waved away.

"Helga, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me." he sneered, and Helga had never felt such overpowering shock and hurt at the same time. Not even when Arnold left her for another woman.

"I do protest, I never injured thee, but loved thee better than thou canst devise, till thou shalt know the reason of my love: and so, good Arnold – which name I tendered as dearly as my own, – be satisfied."

"_Satisfied_? **Satisfied**! How could I be _**satisfied**_ with the knowledge that you left me?!" He shouted, and Helga looked at him in surprise. But her surprise easily faded into vehemence.

"_You_ left **me** for _**Lila**_, remember, Football Head? Crimmney, you had your chance, and squandered it for a redhead with a soft voice and no spark. Said woman already has a boyfriend, and so when you realize your odds with her are slim to none, you come running back to me. Then, in your infinite jealousy, you try to sabotage my next prospect at happiness. This is your own damned fault, so I say again: _be satisfied_." Helga practically growled out, and Arnold stepped forward as if he would speak again. But he didn't; his harsh look faded, and he was overcome with an expression of remorse.

"You're right, Helga. I'm sorry; I was raised better than this with respect and graciousness instilled at me from birth – and I'm ashamed I forgot. I hope you'll be able to forgive me – and that we can still retain our friendship. What do you say; can you forgive me? Friends?" Arnold asked softly, holding out his hand in optimism that she'll accept his apology. Helga watched his hand for a few moments, before smiling and taking it in her own delicate one. He was mindful of the IV in her hand as they shook, and he gave her a soft squeeze.

"Peace be with you, sir." She told him, and Arnold knew there was nothing else to be said. Their friendship was in shambles, but it was salvageable, and he took solace in the fact that she was willing to work with him to repair it. As he sent her one last smile over his shoulder, his eyes caught hers, and the tender smile she gave him made him regret many decisions he had made in his life.

"I'll send in Carmine." He told her, and she mouthed a thank you as he left the room with a smile. When he encountered the group loitering in the hallway, he smiled to assuage their worries, and held out a hand to Carmine, who took it with a curious glance.

"No better man could have won her heart. Congratulations and good luck to you both, sir; your lady is waiting." Arnold offered, and the most grateful smile bloomed across the young Italian's face, his blue eyes gleaming with relief. His girl could finally be his. Carmine couldn't focus on Arnold, or Gerald and Phoebe for there matter. All he could think of was Helga; and he had a sense of urgency like she was dieing.

"O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste." He rushed, and in his hurry to Helga's side, tripped over his own feet and crashed into the doorframe. He twisted his head to look at the others as their laughter filled the halls, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast." Arnold warned with a friendly smile, then turned back towards the exit. Carmine nodded toward Arnold's retreating form, a fleeting look of seriousness on his face. Something unspoken passed between the two, but seemed to disappear the moment Arnold rounded a corner out of sight and Carmine vanished into Helga's room. Gerald and Phoebe shared a look of peace, before pushing themselves off the wall and towards Helga.

Some things were better left unquestioned.

HA


	7. ACT VII

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold, Shakespeare, etc. Alright guys, I think this may be it; the conclusion, the last ACT. The seats are emptied, the lights extinguished, the curtain falls. And before you start hounding me about this (Pyrex Shards) I know this seems to jump around time-wise, it's because this is an epilogue of sorts. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

Helga inhaled the fresh air with a smile, pleased that she no longer had to endure the antiseptic smell of the hospital. She had lost count of how long she had been held prisoner in the name of healing; days had quickly turned to weeks, maybe even a month or so. Time, it seemed, had gotten sucked into the vacuum haze morphine creates. But she was free now; and what a beautiful day to be released.

The sky was overcast and there was a light breeze that played with her hair, but she ignored it in favor of the look Carmine was giving her. Without words, he approached her, taking her hand and walking with her away from the hospital entrance. They could have hailed a cab, or called Anthony, or taken the subway; but they didn't. They were content to walk nowhere, simply holding hands in silence. At her faraway look, Carmine stopped to take Helga in his arms, kissing her cheek before whispering in her ear.

"Where ya at, Helga?" he asked softly, and she laughed a sound so light and airy and purely Helga. Something he had not heard in a long time, and was pleased to hear it now.

"Have you ever been to Italy?" Leave it to her to answer a question with another question. Carmine thought about what she had said and what she could mean for a second, before shrugging with a smile.

"Yeah, plenty of times. Some of my Uncles live there with their families; I would often spend chunks of my summers there as a kid. Why?" She smiled again, leaning back to feel the wind on her face and what felt like a raindrop or two.

"I almost died, Carmine. Near death can make you rethink how you live. I've always wanted to travel the world, and I almost lost my chance." Helga explained, and Carmine entertained the thought of Helga in Italy, dancing and eating and celebrating with his family.

"Would you tell me about Italy?" She asked, bring him from his thoughts. With a smile and a nod, he took her hand and began leading her towards the nearest café.

"How about I tell you over an early dinner? My treat." Carmine offered, and Helga allowed a small laugh to exude from her lips.

"That sounds great, I'm sick of hospital food." They laughed, and Carmine started describing for her the luscious landscapes that his family owns and lives on.

***

The only light was from a table lamp, gold with a red shade to give off a warm and rather imposing feel. Two love seats with red upholstery sat on either side of the only door, while two matching chairs sat before an ornate and worn mahogany desk. Behind the massive piece of wood sat another matching chair, high backed and over stuffed; flanked by the lamp and a phone. To the back of the chair was a window, although the blinds were drawn to a close. The room, as awful as it sounded, was the stereotypical den of the Don for a Family. But that's exactly what it was.

And behind that massive and imposing mahogany desk sat a man in his late forties, brown and grey hair slicked back to a dark shade of almost black. He was clad in a deep blue pin-striped zuit suit and maroon tie; he had taken off his matching blue fedora earlier on and set it carefully on the corner of the desk. His near wireless-framed glasses were perched precariously on his nose as he looked down at his late little brother's youngest child and only son. And what a son he proved to be.

"Does this young woman have a name?" he asked calmly as the younger brown haired man practically fell into one of the chairs.

"Her name is Helga. Helga Pataki. Please Uncle Leon, would you just do this for me?" He pleaded, and the elder smiled – always easy to spot a man in love.

"You love her, huh?" His nephew blushed, and Leon Bianchetti saw the same thing his son Anthony saw.

"Yes, so much. She nearly died in the bomb blast at the airport, and I just, I, I really want to do this for her. Please." Carmine pleaded, and Leon smiled, before taking a pen and paper, writing down a few things.

"I'll tell your Uncle Sal that you'll be there in a few days; I'll arrange the flight myself." The smile that bloomed across his nephew's lips nearly split the young man's face apart. It was in that moment that Leon realized just how much Carmine resembled his father, although those eyes, they were definitely his mother's. Carmine jumped out of his chair, completely ignoring Family Protocol and launching himself over his Uncle's desk in order to hug the older man. Leon just laughed good-naturedly and returned the embrace, watching as Carmine disentangled himself from his Uncle's arms and hopped over the desk again.

"Carmine." The younger man stopped himself just shy of the door at his Uncle's call, and turned almost nervously.

"I know your Mother and Aunt would like to meet her, and I'm curious myself, what with the stories Anthony has told us. Perhaps you can bring her over for dinner after your trip?" Leon offered as he peered over his spectacles and smirking cleverly. Carmine smiled in return, the twinkle in his blue eyes purely his own.

"Naturally." He guaranteed, and his Uncle nodded.

"Getouttaere." Leon laughed, and watched as his nephew all but bolted out the door. After his office was quiet for a few minutes, he lifted the phone off the receiver and dialed a number while vaguely looking at the buttons. Three rings later a deep voice greeted his ear in Italian.

"Buongiorno, il fratello. Sal, I have a favor to ask."

*

Arnold watched as the jet flew high overhead, no doubt carrying Helga and Carmine to Italy. He would take care of her, and she would be happy – but Arnold just couldn't find it in himself to be satisfied. Shouldn't he get happiness too? Where was his comedy-like ending, with marriage or at least a date? Sure, he had done some awful things, but that shouldn't be cause to let him be miserable for the rest of his life.

He sighed again, and Gerald, who was walking with him, just about bashed his own head into the nearest wall.

"Come on man, let it go. I mean, you let her go, didn't you?" The dark skinned man asked his friend, and Arnold sighed again, much to Gerald's annoyance.

"I know, Gerald. I want her to be happy, and I want to keep our friendship safe – but I don't want to be alone. Lila has Lorenzo, you have Phoebe, there's Harold and Patty, Curly and Rhonda," he paused when Gerald emitted a soft 'weird', "Sheena and Eugene, and now Helga and Carmine. Hell, even Sid and Stinky both found girls. I can't help but feel . . . unsatisfied." The two sat on the old Boarding House stoop, watching the cars go by as they thought about everything that had happened recently. Arnold sighed again, but before Gerald could act on his feelings and pummel his best friend's head into the brick siding, a soft voice entered their ears.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for the owner of this building." Both turned to find a petite brunette in front of them, a duffle bag on her should and a piece of paper in her hand. Arnold immediately stood, and Gerald eyed him with a smirk.

"I'm his grandson and co-owner. What can I do for you?" he asked smoothly, and she blushed while looking him up and down. They were practically undressing each other with their eyes, and Gerald wanted to hurl.

"I need a room, and a woman I met in the airport told me to try this place, Sunset Arms on Vine Street." She explained, and Arnold nodded with a wide smile.

"Of course we have a room open for you. If you would just follow me inside, we can have you fill out the paper work and get you all settled in." He offered, and she nodded enthusiastically, although neither moved. Gerald just sighed and stood, nudging his friend while taking off down the street towards Phoebe's.

"Later man." Arnold waved distractedly with a mumbled 'later', and Gerald laughed, even though it went unnoticed.

"I'm Arnold Moser." Arnold introduced, holding out his hand for her to take. She smiled and gently rested her hand in his own.

"Danielle Nieminen." Neither could deny the tingle of pleasure that ran from their hands to their hearts – and other places – at the contact. Arnold smiled a smooth and welcoming smile as he led her inside, already getting to know her.

Maybe he could be satisfied after all.

***

Helga sat at the vanity mirror, taking the moment of peace to think back to that day in the airport a few weeks ago. A young brunette woman no older than herself approached as Helga looked over the times, asking if she knew the area. Helga nodded, and the woman breathed a sigh of relief, before asking Helga if she knew any apartment buildings with rooms open. She then proceeded to explain that she had just moved here from Finland, and was suppose to live with her boyfriend – needless to say, he joined the mile high club with a stewardess and she left the plane a single and now homeless woman.

Helga had looked her over, before smiling and telling the woman to find Sunset Arms, on Vine Street in Hillwood City. The woman thanked her profusely, before taking her single duffle bag and the written directions, and fled the airport. A few moments later, Carmine returned from the corner he was making a call, and told her his Uncle Sal had arranged for a car to pick them up when they landed.

A knock on the door broke her thoughts, and she turned to find Carmine leaning against the frame, dressed for the 1940s-themed party his family was throwing downstairs in their honor. She smiled as he eyed her, not some much lusty as it was caring.

"Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath sell'd thy beauty's form in table of my heart; my body is the frame wherein 'tis held, and perspective it is the painter's art. For through the painter must you see his skill, to find where your true image pictured lies; which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, that hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me are windows to my breast, where-through the sun delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; they draw but what they see, know not the heart." Carmine serenaded as he approached her still seated form, taking pleasure in her light blush. She smiled and kissed his lips softly before deciding to reply.

"Let those who are in favour with their stars of public honour and proud titled boast whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread but as the marigold at the sun's eye, and in themselves their pride lies buried, for at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for fight, after a thousand victories once foil'd, is from the book of honour razed quite, and all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: then happy I, that love and am beloved where I may not remove nor be removed." As she finished, Carmine smiled and kissed her fully, swallowing her moan as they stood. When they pulled apart, he gave her his cocky, crooked Italian smirk.

"Helga, would you marry me?" her eyes went wide, but she didn't pull away from him.

"What?" the tone of her voice made him realize how he said it. Whoops.

"I don't mean right away; I mean in the future. We can have a nice long engagement; years, if you want!" he tried to recover, and she smiled softly.

"A nice little wedding in the Italian countryside sounds nice. We can invite all the friends we grew up with." She began, and he smiled even more as he pulled her close.

"We can serve chili-cheese dogs as the main course." Carmine continued seriously, and Helga bit back a laugh.

"And we'll have everyone dress for the forties." She concluded, and Carmine didn't fight back a laugh.

"So does this mean you say yes?" He asked hopefully, and she thought about it for a moment.

"Naturalmente."

Carmine laughed and swept her off her feet, cradling her as he kissed her vigorously. Helga laughed as well, kicking her feet playfully as they continued to kiss, only stopping when Carmine put her down to kneel in front of her.

"Here's the ring to make it official." He told her as he pulled out a thin gold band with a small fire opal in the center. Helga didn't cry, but she was smiling so hard her face hurt.

"Crimmney Bianchetti, you sure have good taste." She complimented as she admired the ring on her finger, while he stood with a smirk.

"Well, I did fall in love with you." he commented, but she ignored him in favor of her own thoughts.

"Although you did put it on the wrong finger." Helga concluded while sliding the ring off her right hand in order to place it more correctly. Carmine just about died with embarrassment, and Helga laughed while dragging him towards the door.

"Hey, fughggetaboutit. Come on, let's go brag to all our cousins!" she cheered, and nearly groaned when he stalled her.

"_Our_ cousins?" he asked, and she smirked in a purely Helga way.

"Well, I did say yes." She threw back at him, before continuing her mission of dragging him downstairs where she would force him to dance and drink and enjoy the evening with her. She would have him mingle with the men in his family while she chatted with the girls about wedding plans, after she had called Phoebe of course. And she would force him to endure all of this for at least a year. Hey, he did say it could be a nice, _long_, engagement.

And in true Bianchetti fashion, once the good news was shared, the dancing and the singing, the feasting and the merry-making was shared by all. And all, it seemed, was as it should be.

HA


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